


Frenemies Have Their Uses

by SaenaLife



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Language?, Lots of it, idk how to tag things when it's not smut, lying, that's about it really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10073981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaenaLife/pseuds/SaenaLife
Summary: An encounter with your past makes you reevaluate your future.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog Trope Challenge. My trope was "pretending to be together to make an ex jealous".

Two drinks in and you were _finally_ starting to relax. A couple hours earlier, you and Dean had managed to hold off the angry ghost of a mad poet long enough for Sam to burn the journal where he'd written poems in his own blood. Normally that would mean a celebratory trip to the nearest watering hole, but you hadn't really wanted to come out to the bar tonight.

Not that you couldn't use some serious relaxation; you were wound up tight, to put it mildly. But this place was too close to your hometown for comfort. You'd shaken this dirt off your heels long ago and had zero desire to meet up with any of the faces from your past. You figured, instead of whiskey and pool with the boys, you'd stay behind and spend some quality alone time in your room, making use of the ridiculous abundance of fantasy material that was the Winchester brothers, before going to sleep early.

When they heard your plan - the ' _sleep early'_ part, not the _'rub one (maybe two) out'_ part - Sam and Dean were having none of it. They pestered and heckled you until finally you gave in, figuring it wouldn't be long before both of them hooked up with someone for the night, leaving you free to escape to the nice anonymous confines of your room.

Dean rattled the ice in his glass before tipping it up to catch the last few drops of amber liquid on his tongue. Damn. Did he even know what kind of effect he had - on the public in general and on you specifically? Which was worse, him knowing that he drove you crazy or him not knowing and driving you crazy anyway? Not that it really mattered. Gorgeous or not, Dean was off-limits.

He pointed the empty glass at you, interrupting your half-buzzed musing. “Your turn to buy a round.”

You stared him down, a subtle challenge in the slight rise of your eyebrows. “Uh-uh.” Downing the last of your own drink, you tapped the glass onto the table in front of him. “You assholes made me come out tonight, you're buying my drinks.” Standing, you grinned at him. “I'll go order, but it's going on your tab.”

“Fi-i-ine,” Dean practically whined, but amusement sparkled in his eyes.

“As long as Dean's buying,” Sam chuckled and gestured with his nearly empty bottle, “I'll have another of the same.”

“Comin' up!” With another cheeky smile, you headed to the bar, suddenly glad you had come out after all. Hanging out with the Winchesters after a successful hunt was one of the best parts of your job. It would have been a shame to miss out on that because you were afraid of running into someone who knew the person you used to be.

That worry seemed kind of silly now. So far, you hadn't seen anyone who looked even remotely familiar. Even if you had, the years had changed you so much, they probably wouldn't even recognize you. Stepping up to the bar, you ordered Sam another microbrew, Dean another Wild Turkey, and were just about to order another of the same-old, same-old for yourself when you reconsidered.

“Gimme a top shelf bourbon, on the rocks.”

The bartender had a charming smile and lovely dark eyes that looked at you with interest. “Any particular brand?”

Smiling back, you shook your head, wondering if you remembered how to flirt. “Just give me the toppest of the top shelf.” Half turning, you pointed at Dean as he crossed toward the jukebox. “And it's going on his tab.”

He chuckled, hands busy setting up the drinks. “What, did he lose a bet or something?”

“Nah, he just owes m-”

“Y/N? Is that you?”

Your blood ran cold at the familiar voice. _Please, not him!_ But you knew that was a futile hope even as you sent the bartender an apologetic smile that was probably more of a grimace, and turned to face the newcomer.

“Scott.”

“It is you! I knew it, you haven't changed a bit!” You cringed at that, but he was as handsome as he'd been in high school and you were suddenly seventeen again, the shy girl hanging around the edges of things, tongue-tied and desperate for approval. Before you could respond, he turned and waved at a table near the door, calling out, “Marcy! Marcy!” He pointed at you. “It is her! Come say hi!”

A woman stood, beginning to make her way across the bar, and your stomach dropped. Of course, Scott would be here with Marcy. The two of you had been fierce academic rivals in every class you shared, but she was also rich and tiny and popular. You were none of those things and she never missed an opportunity to remind you of that.

“Well, look at you! You haven't changed a bit!” Her voice was bright and brittle as a broken ornament as she approached. “Seriously, I think I remember that outfit from senior year.”

You tugged the edges of your flannel together, vaguely ashamed of the threadbare t-shirt that had been your favorite for years. “How are you, Marcy?”

“Oh, I'm fabulous, thanks for asking. I was just kidding about the clothes, sweetie, I think you look _adorable_.” She swept a less-than-casual hand over the soft leather of her obviously pricey handbag in a way that drew your eye to the matching leather boots. “Besides, fashion is an expensive hobby.” Subtlety had never been Marcy's strong point.

“I think she looks great.” Oblivious as ever, Scott smiled widely at you. “Almost like you're still in high school.”

Marcy sputtered. “Plus twenty pounds, right Y/N?” You stared blankly at her, dumbfounded. At one point in your life, that kind of dig had come from her so often that it stopped phasing you. Those days were long gone and your brain stubbornly refused to come up with the devastating response you so desperately needed now (and would never have had the guts to use back then).

When you didn't immediately answer, she swung around to look at Scott. “Wait, didn't you two go out for a hot minute?”

He nodded, stupid smile still aimed in your direction. “Yeah, for a couple of weeks, I think.”

“It was three and a half weeks.” Your words were flat. “You broke up with me just before the spring dance.” Turning a hard gaze on Marcy, you went on. “To go to the dance with you.”

“Oh, that's right, that was you!” she giggled, smiling flirtatiously up at Scott. “We liked each other, but were never single at the same time. So when my date backed out, it seemed like fate. Scott stepped in and saved me from social exile.”

“How romantic.” The sarcasm was so thick in your mouth, you were surprised the words made it out.

“Y/N was such a good sport about all that messiness.” Scott was looking at you with that big-dumb-dog look on his handsome face, all good intentions and bad comprehension. “I always liked that about you, you were always a good sport.”

It wasn't so much that it was the last straw, not really. It was more that you'd finally managed to process the surreal situation enough to find the appropriately vivid words to assure the both of them that you were not, in fact, a good sport at all.

You had opened your mouth to let loose when Dean appeared at your side, stunning you into silence by sliding one arm low around your back and leaning down to nuzzle a little at your ear.

“Follow my lead.” The quiet words shivered over your skin and your eyes drifted closed in a slow blink as he raised a hand to your cheek, turning you to meet the soft press of his lips.

********

-Dean-

On my way back to the table, I saw that Y/N was still standing at the bar with the drinks lined up at her elbow, talking to a guy I pegged as an aging quarterback turned car salesman and a short woman with a toothy smile on her face. Biff was grinning at Y/N in a way that raised my hackles a little. Not stopping to question the instinct, I altered course and headed in their direction. _Just gonna help her with the drinks, no big deal._

As I got closer, I heard Muffy's jab about 'twenty pounds' and frowned when I realized the verbal beatdown Y/N was always ready to deliver wasn't in the offing. Something wasn't right there, so I stopped a couple stools away, waving off the bartender while I shamelessly eavesdropped.

It took less than 30 seconds for me to decide that enough was enough. I couldn't believe the crap they were tossing her way and she just stood there and took it, nothing like the scary-ass hunter I'd come to know and respect. I didn't know what was wrong with Y/N, but if she wasn't gonna stand up for herself, then I was gonna do it for her.

I couldn't just jump in and tell 'em off, though; they'd just walk away feeling superior because she needed someone to fight her battles. Plus, it would really piss her off and believe you me, that is _not_ something to take lightly. The plan came to me as I pushed off my stool, a way to make them miserable and amuse her at the same time. Who says I'm not subtle?

As usual, Y/N caught onto the game immediately, returning my kiss with convincing enthusiasm, convincing enough that it took me a few seconds longer than it should have to pull back and smile down at her.

“I missed you.” The line was cheesy as hell, but that's exactly what I was going for. The trick to making this kind of thing work is to say every word with complete sincerity.

Cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, she whacked my arm playfully. “You were only gone for three minutes.”

Tightening my hold on her waist, I brushed the hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear with a soft caress of her cheek. “Time away from you is time wasted.”

Our eyes caught and held, and I swear, even the Zeppelin I'd put on the juke faded into silence for a few seconds.

An obnoxious throat-clearing broke the spell and we turned our attention back to the jackass twins. Neither one of us moved to put more space between us and damn, but she felt good in my arms!

********

You and Dean had pretended to be in love on more than one case, but none of those kisses had left your heart in your throat the way this one did. And when he spouted those god-awful lines that somehow sounded like truth falling from his lips, you found yourself effortlessly playing along, caught up in the moment until Marcy made a sound like she was bringing up a hairball.

You'd nearly forgotten they were there. Tearing your eyes from Dean, you looked to see the two of them also staring at him, with completely opposite emotions scrawled across their faces. Marcy drank him in, bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes raked him from the tips of his steel toe boots to the top of his tousled hair. It was only when she glanced at you that her look flashed to annoyed disbelief. Scott, on the other hand - his look was one of challenge and you groaned inwardly at the unmistakable signs of an alpha male about to defend his territory.

Lifting your hand from where it rested on his bicep (reluctantly, you had to admit), you gestured at them in introduction. “Dean, this is Scott and Marcy. We all went to high school together. Guys, this is Dean.”

Scott's voice boomed out, deeper than it had been a minute ago. “Nice to meet you, Dean.” He thrust out his hand, jaw as square and manly as his shoulders, though he seemed less handsome than you'd thought when you had first seen him.

“Same here.” Unperturbed, Dean unwound an arm from your waist and shook Scott's hand, looking totally relaxed, but you could see the muscles in his forearm flex with the force of his grip. Scott never stood a chance, retreating first, and you caught him shaking out the ache in his fingers behind Marcy's back as she stepped forward.

“It's a _pleasure_ to meet you, Dean,” she practically purred and you had to bite your cheek to keep from laughing when you realized that her voice was deeper now too, a throatily seductive murmur. She dangled her fingers in front of him, obviously and yet unbelievably fishing for a kiss to the back of her hand. Wow.

You figured he'd go along with it, make it look natural and hot the way you were sure he could, just to get her to fall that much harder for him. But he surprised you, and her, by simply grasping her hand and giving it a firm shake before releasing it and sliding his arm back around your waist.

“Hey, maybe you two would like to come and have a drink with us?” he invited.

Dean had a malicious glint in his eye that you loved, so you chimed in. “Yeah, let's catch up a little more!”

This time, Scott and Marcy had almost the same expression, but directed at different targets. Marcy obviously wanted to spend more time with Dean, but hated the idea of hanging out with you. And Scott just as obviously would have preferred to pretend Dean didn't exist, but was looking at you with a sort of nostalgic hunger. This was going to be too easy.

Making up his mind, Scott agreed with fake heartiness. “Sure, sounds like fun!”

You glanced over to your table, wondering if Sam would catch on to the game quickly enough, only to find him in what looked to be a deeply flirtatious conversation with the gorgeous dark-skinned woman who was now sitting in your chair. Dean followed your glance and grinned proudly.

“Looks like my brother Sam is a little busy and I hate to interrupt.” He released his hold on you with every appearance of reluctance and turned to the bar, passing your drink to you and picking up the others. “I'll just take him his beer and meet you guys at your table.” Hands full, he dropped a quick kiss to your cheek and headed across the room.

As much as you had always enjoyed the view when Dean was walking away, even better was watching Marcy watch him walk away. She was practically drooling. You sipped your drink, pausing just a little to make sure she got a good long look at what she would never, _ever_ have. Of course, you'd never have him either, but that wasn't the point. When her eyes met yours, there was more than a little envy in them, which was your cue to smile brightly and wave a hand toward their table.

“Shall we?”

Settling into a chair, Marcy picked up the drink she'd left there, swallowing thirstily before swiveling to face you where you sat. “So tell us, how did you two meet? I bet it's a _charming_ little story, like a fairy tale where you were a sad little scullery maid and the prince of the castle took pity on you or something.”

She was _such_ a bitch, but she had lobbed that one right over the plate and you took a big fat swing at it. “It's not exactly a meet-cute, but I think it's a pretty good story.” You stopped to take a drink, letting a slight suspense build. “About a year ago, I was down in Nicaragua with a charity I support, helping build a school. Neighborhood kids were always around, playing and watching the construction. One day this little girl was trying to keep up with her older sisters climbing trees and she fell. I got to her first and it was pretty clear her arm was broken. Someone said there was a group from Doctors Without Borders in the village, so I carried her down there while someone ran to find her mother.”

Dean appeared, pulling out a chair and scooting it closer to you.  “Are you telling them how we met?” You loved how he caught on and joined in so seamlessly. He sat, his knee pressed to yours and his arm resting along the chairback, fingers idly playing with the ends of your hair.

“Yeah.” You put a hand on his thigh ( _hmmm_ ) and looked up at him with adoration. Laying it on thick was the name of this game, but it was getting harder to ignore the warm tingles of sensation fanning out from every point of contact between you. “Dean was the one who treated Gabriela. He was so great with her, so calm and caring. He had her giggling before long and when they left, she hugged him so hard with her one good arm, I thought he'd choke.”

Dean smiled fondly at the non-existent memory. “Yeah, Gaby still sends me pictures she drew and little stories she made up. I have the world's tiniest pen pal.”

“Anyway, he and I got to talking after Gabriela's mom took her home. We talked until we got hungry and then we talked through dinner and drinks at the local cantina, and then sat on the porch after it closed, talking until the sun came up.” Turning to look at Dean, you asked, “I don't think we even kissed that first night, did we?”

He harrumphed. “No, we didn't.” Gripping your shoulder, he drew you closer. “And I've been doin' my best to make up for that ever since.” His lips landed on yours and for the second time that night, you melted into his kiss, pulse racing.

“So you're a doctor?” Marcy's voice broke in, dripping with breathy admiration. “What kind?”

“Oh, I'm not a doctor. I volunteer for Doctors Without Borders, but I'm a nurse, pediatrics mostly.”

“Pediatric nurse, huh? Unusual job for a guy.” Scott had been silently downing his drink, eyes narrowed as he watched the affectionate scene playing out, and a touch of nastiness edged his comment.

Again, Dean was unfazed. “I woulda said that same thing when I was younger.” His smile was rueful and charming. “I was a trust fund baby, livin' it up and partying hard. Got into illegal drag-racing and ended up wrapping my car around a light pole. I came out of it with a couple scars and a stint doing community service at the hospital.” His face turned solemn. “The judge said it might teach me something about the sanctity of life, and she was totally right. I got assigned to the pediatric unit. Kids in there dealing with scary ass shit they should never have to think about and all I wanted to do was help them have the kind of childhood they deserved. So here I am.”

You could see by Marcy's face that her panties were practically melting and to be honest, you couldn't blame her. You knew   _for a fact_ that he was lying and damn if his story wasn't doing a number on you, too. Or maybe it was the kisses...

Dean turned to Scott, pure innocence on his face when he asked, “So what do you do?”

Glancing at you and puffing up a little in anticipation of scoring a point, Scott reached into his jacket and pulled out a card, handing it to Dean with a flourish. “My partners and I own a dealership specializing in _luxury_ pre-owned vehicles.”

“Used cars, huh? Cool.” Dean's reply carried the barest hint of dismissal and Scott jumped at the bait with a defensive scowl.

“I've got other things going, too! I'm trying to get my partners to expand into classic cars, but only the best, you know, prestige cars. In fact, I saw one out in the parking lot I'd love to get my hands on.”

You couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped. “Let me guess, a shiny black '67 Impala?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“That's his baby.” You squeezed Dean's thigh, smiling affectionately.

Marcy was able to twist her scowl into something very much like a smile. “What, does he love the car more than you? Aren't _you_ his baby?”

This time Dean laughed. “Hell no, she ain't my baby!” Everyone stopped to look at him in surprise, you most of all. Pulling you tight against his chest, he looked into your eyes with the most tender expression you'd ever seen on his familiar face. “She's my everything-I-ever-dreamed-of.”

********

-Dean-

It was way too much fun, the two of us improvising new details and stories on the spot while Buff and Miffy threw a weird combination of spiteful jabs and clumsy flirtations at us. We countered every play they made, making up lives that out-classed theirs on every fuckin' level. We were more adventurous, more glamorous, more charitable, more everything really - _especially_ more in love. It was obviously killing them.

We were good at this, me and Y/N. We'd played the loving couple more than once and it was always like this - the two of us so in tune that the lies came out as easily and as solidly as the truth, no weird pauses while one of us tried to catch up with the other's story. The affection had always come easy between us, too. Kisses and hugs, random touches and smiles, they were always a part of the game and were as easy to leave behind as the fake names when the case was done.

This felt different, though, like we weren't playing characters anymore. Maybe it was the fact that we were conning people who actually knew her, who had a history with her, but when she pressed her mouth against mine or slid her hand over my thigh, it felt like Y/N kissing me, Y/N touching me. And when I kissed her back, it wasn't 'Dean the perfect boyfriend'. It was just me, holding her in my arms like it was the first time.

Eventually, Muff and Biffy seemed to give up on either making us feel inferior or scoring a date. When they started making noises about heading out, I wasn't ready for the curtain to fall just yet. I was enjoying myself too much, so I insisted they stick around for one last round, my treat. I drafted Y/N to come with me to order, partly so she could help carry the drinks and partly so I could tuck her under my arm on the way over to the bar.

After ordering the drinks, I plopped down on a stool and pulled her to stand between my legs. Taking her face in my hands and looking into her eyes, I could see the silent question there. Leaning in, I murmured, “Gotta make it look good, right?” And then I kissed her with all the honest want and caring that were suddenly bubbling up in my chest, things I'd never felt before but that seemed like they'd been a part of me for a long time.

*********

You had gone along with Dean's demand that everyone stick around for another drink, but the truth was that you were ready to stop pretending. Even though torturing Scott and Marcy had been hilariously entertaining and oddly freeing, it was getting harder and harder to hold back the real you from the kisses you shared with Dean. The line between the reality of your relationship and the fantasy you were both creating was getting fuzzier with every touch of his hand and every loving glance. It would be safer for your heart all around if the two of you got back onto familiar footing - colleagues and friends. That was all any hunter could or should expect out of the life.

Then Dean pulled you in for a kiss that was as far beyond the rest of the night's kisses as those had been beyond any others in your long shared history. It was overpowering. There was no thought, there was only pure instinctive response. Heedless of who might be watching, you wrapped your arms around Dean, pressing your body to his and thrilling to the weight of his arm across your back, dragging you even tighter against him.

You couldn't guarantee you didn't moan aloud when he nipped at your lower lip before sliding his tongue along the tender flesh to meet and twine with yours. This wasn't a game anymore, not for you. With every intermingled breath, every brush of tongues and meeting of lips, more and more of your pretense was stripped away. All of your masks - half of a perfect couple, friendly colleague, independent hunter who refused to risk personal relationships - one by one, they all crumbled until you felt exquisitely open to the man who held you in his arms, vulnerable and yet somehow as safe and comfortable as you'd ever been. It left your head spinning and when Dean's hands dropped to your-

“ _You're_ the one who wanted an open marriage, Scott!”

Marcy's liquor-soaked squall was loud enough to startle you out of the moment. You pulled back, dazed and out of breath, staring at each other for a long second before turning by unspoken agreement to watch the fireworks.

“Well, you didn't have to be so damn obvious about it!” Scott hissed, making some small attempt at discretion, yet still managing to be completely audible to the rest of the bar.

Marcy stood up, swaying a little as she sneered down at him. “Oh yeah! Like you weren't undressing _her_ with your eyes all night!” She flung an wild hand in your direction before clumsily grabbing her purse and turning to the door. “Take me home, I'm tired of all this.” Without waiting for an answer, she stomped out.

“Fine!” Pulling cash from his wallet with sharp and angry movements, Scott tossed it on the table. With one last scowling glance at where you and Dean stood wide-eyed and still entwined around each other, he followed Marcy out the door.

As he disappeared, you met Dean's eyes and the both of you burst out laughing. Still chuckling, you dropped your arms from around his neck as naturally as possible, trying to remember how this kind of scene had ended other times - before the intellectual awareness of just how sexy Dean Winchester was had slipped into full emotional and physical _knowing_.

Stepping casually away, unaware of the wayDean's body seemed to lean with you as you moved out of reach, you nodded toward the empty table. “I almost feel sorry for them.”

“Nah, I heard the way they were talking to you. They deserved every bit of it.” The lingering roughness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

Striving for normal, you picked up the fresh drink the bartender had left, looking around and noticing another empty table. 'Where's Sam?” you asked, lifting the glass to your lips and drinking deeply, hoping to squelch the new, disturbing awareness of the man you considered a close friend and an unacceptable risk.

“He took off with that chick about 20 minutes ago, while you were telling them about being a cultural attache with the state department.” He grinned proudly. “My little brother's a smooth operator when he wants to be.”

“He's not the only one. Damn, dude, you should go into acting! You could be in the movies, not even kidding. I think that was our best performance yet.” You wished the two of you hadn't been so talented at pretending to be in love; it felt too good for your peace of mind.

“Nah, tried it once, couldn't get used to the camera.” Dean took a healthy swig of his own drink, then winked at you. “You were pretty fuckin' awesome yourself. Totally believable.”

Uncomfortable, you shrugged that off. “But seriously, the bit about being an ex-bad boy nurse with just a hint of family money? That shit was inspired!” A giggle escaped as you remembered. “Marcy didn't know what hit her.”

“Yeah, that story never fails.” His smile was more than a little smug and it stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait, really?!” Staring up at him incredulously, you poked him in the arm. “You use that line on women in bars? You?!”

The question seemed to confuse him. “Uh, sure, that line or another one. Talent scout usually gets a good response. Depends on the woman.”

“You know what, Dean? You're better than that manipulative crap. Look at you!” Waving an impatient hand to indicate his entire self, you went straight to the hard truth. “You don't need to make up ridiculous stories to get women, you just do it because you're lazy.”

“Hey, I ain't lazy! I just like to hedge my bets.” Now he was defensive. “And what am I supposed to do, huh? Tell 'em the fucking truth?”

“No! You don't have to be honest about what you _do_ , but be honest about who you _are_. Go ahead and lie to them, just don't play them anymore, okay?” Nudging him with your elbow, you smirked at him. “We both know you could tell them you're in pest control and still get lucky more often than most.”

Dean looked at you for a long second, with an expression you didn't recognize. “Or maybe I should try being in an actual relationship, with someone that I don't have to lie to at all.” You squinted at him, surprised, and he chuckled self-consciously. “You know, just thinking about what it would be like to not have to hide anything, to be with someone for real. Maybe even long term.”

“You mean like another hunter?” you asked incredulously. Everyone knew hunter relationships didn't work out any better than being with a civilian. You'd accepted that a long time ago and knew that Dean felt the same.

“Well, yeah, but lately... I've been thinking about one specific hunter.”

“Like wh-” You stopped short, recent events clicking into place. “Oh my god, is it Donna?” You'd worked a case with her and the Winchesters about a month ago. The two of you had become fast friends and you knew she could be really good for him. Refusing to acknowledge the weight in your chest at the thought, you gushed, “She's awesome, you guys would be so cute together!”

He gave you a strange look. “Noooo, not Donna.”

There was silence for moment as the light began to dawn on you and your eyes widened. “Wait a minute... are, uh, are you talking about _me_?”

“Yes, I'm talkin' about you!” If there was such a thing as exasperated eyebrows, Dean had 'em. “Who else have I been kissing for the last hour?”

“But you know I don't do relationships! Neither do you!” Dean was one of the few reliable things in your life and you hadn't realized how much you counted on that until he threw this curve ball at you. The world that had been solid and familiar, predictable within certain parameters, had just tilted in a new direction. Trying to keep the mounting alarm out of your voice, you squeaked, “And we were just pretending!”

“Maybe so, but it didn't really feel like it.” He stopped, peering down at you. “Did it?”

“Well,” you scrambled for an explanation, “ no, it didn't, but that's just because we didn't have a case to distract us from the roles we were playing. We were just focused on it, that's all it was.”

“That's _not_ all. Listen, I steer clear of long-term relationships for the same reasons you do. If you're with a civilian, you're putting an innocent life in danger. If you're with a hunter, there's potential distraction on hunts and you can bet on a grisly death for one or both of you”

That sounded much more like the friend you knew and you started to relax a little. “Duh. I know all of this, Dean. You're making my arguments for me.”

“Here's the thing though: a while ago, I met a coupla guys who made me think maybe it doesn't always have to be that way. They were in a relationship and they hunted together. It made them stronger.”

“Good for them. Really, that's great, but it doesn't mean it's a good idea for me. Or you, for that matter.” Tension crept back into your muscles. It hadn't been easy to achieve the emotional distance you believed was necessary to be a hunter, especially around Dean, and here he was, on a whim, trying to coax your heart across the no-man's-land that kept you safe.

“Why not us?”

“Are you kidding me? You just said it! When emotions get involved, hunters make mistakes and people die.”

“That's not always true. Sam's not a distraction on the job and he's been the most important person in my life since I was four. You know why it works?” You shook your head. “It's because I know he's a badass hunter and he's got my back just like I've got his. We trust each other not to die.”

“What's that got to do with me?”

“Working with you the last couple of weeks, I'm startin' to figure out that all that is true about you, too.” He paused, eyes locked with yours, and when he continued, his voice was quiet and solemn. “I trust you with my life. _And_ Sammy's.”

Shaken, you swallowed around the sudden lump in your throat, dropping your eyes to avoid his gaze, afraid he would see the emotions overflowing there - emotions you couldn't even name yourself. “I... I trust you, too, Dean.” Risking a quick glance, you saw that he was waiting patiently. With a deep breath for courage, you admitted, “I just don't know if trust is enough for me to take that gamble.”

Taking your hands in both of his, Dean sighed. “You know, I get that, I really do.” He sent you a piercing look. “But tell me you don't sometimes get scared of living the rest of your life without - and I hate myself for using this word, but - without real _intimacy_? Without someone to hold in the dark of the night? Because I've been looking down that road for a long time now, and thought I was okay with it, but it's starting to seem pretty grim.”

Needing distance, overwhelmed at the way he seemed to be speaking the thoughts you never allowed yourself to acknowledge in the light of day, you said the first thing that came into your head. “So you're looking at me because you're starting to feel desperate? Gee, thanks, Dean.”

“Damn it, that's probably the dumbest thing you've ever said to me!” When you refused to meet his eyes, his hands slid up your arms and he gave you a gentle shake. “You think I'm takin' this lightly? Being with me means being a target for all kinds of nasties and I swore I'd never put another person in that kind of danger. But every day we worked this case, it got harder and harder for me to remember that.”

“But why?” Honestly bewildered, you put your hands on his chest, searching his face for some clue.

“Do you really not see it? You're smart and you're sarcastic as fuck, you're one _hell_ of a hunter, you're already friends with Sam. And we always have fun together, don't we?”

“Yeah.” You couldn't deny that the time you spent with Dean was something you treasured. “But I don't understand, Dean, all of that's been true for years. What changed?”

“Tonight, seeing what we might be like together, it made me decide I had to give it a shot.” His eyes roamed your face, pausing for a long moment on your lips. “The truth is, I can't stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I try. Every day, I decide it's a bad idea and I shouldn't push it. But when I'm alone at night, all I can think about is you.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed and dumbfounded, unresisting when he pulled you close into his chest. His breath fanned over your face, hypnotizing you with the smell of whiskey and the sound of his voice as he went on.

“I lay in bed, telling myself all the reasons we shouldn't be together, over and over again, trying to keep from jerking off because you wore those damn jeans again.”

Involuntarily, you glanced down. “These j-?” Shaking your head, you dismissed the question. It wasn't so easy to dismiss the distraction of his body so close to yours. “That's all just hormones talking anyway. Everyone gets that way sometimes. D'you think I never think about you at night?” The part of your brain that previews words before they're spoken sent out the alarm a second too late and you repressed the urge to clap a hand over your mouth in horror at the admission. Closing your eyes, you wished for the ground to swallow you up.

“Never discount hormones, honey, they make life worth livin'.” You couldn't blame Dean for the hint of amused satisfaction in his voice. There was no trace of it in his face when you looked up, though, only simple hope and affection as he slipped one hand along your jaw into your hair, tilting your face up to his. “This is the real me, kissin' the real you, no acts, no games. Just give it a chance, okay?”

Heart pounding in your chest, you couldn't find it in you to resist this moment, whatever the cost, and you nodded slightly, already reaching for his lips with your own. At that first brushing touch, panic streaked through you, a knowing that this was a spark that could burn your world down, but it didn't matter. It was too late. You clasped your hands around his neck and deepened the kiss, going willingly when Dean dragged one arm low across your back, pulling your hips against his.

Your body was lighting up like a pinball table, bells ringing, lights flashing, everything powered up and spinning. It was overwhelming and you found yourself slipping below the surface of the emotions welling up inside you - passion and tenderness for the man in your arms, a possessive desire to hold him even closer, to see him in every possible mood, to share his life every day and his bed every night until...

“No! I can't!” You broke away, alarmed at how easily you'd forgotten the harsh reality. “What if you die? What if I die? It's too risky!”

You turned to go, ignoring his hand on your arm in your rush to escape your own feelings.

“You know what?” Dean flung the words at your retreating back. “We're both gonna die bloody someday and what fuckin' good will it do anyone that I never got to love you?!”

Angry frustration rang out in Dean's voice, but it was a thin disguise for the fear and the deep-down lonely that mirrored your own dread, the sound of it echoing through the long, solitary years ahead of you. You froze, standing there with your back to the best man you had ever known, trying to decide which fate you feared more.

*********

-Dean-

_What the fuck did I just say?_

My heart was still pounding from that incredible kiss and my stomach was still twisted up from the realization that she meant to walk away from me, from us. I couldn't have said another word even if I'd wanted to; that rare moment of total honesty was everything I had left to say. Luckily, I didn't have to say anything, because it had been enough to at least get her to stop running for the door.

Seemed like it took forever for her to turn around and I didn't have a clue what to expect when she did. The first thing I saw was that her eyes were filling with tears and everything inside me just fell flat, trying to be ready for disappointment. The tears overflowed when she looked up at me, faint shining tracks on her cheeks, but something in her eyes gave me a sudden dizzy breath of hope.

“You're right.” The words were soft, but they rang in my ears.

“I am?” I couldn't control the huge, relieved grin plastered on my face and didn't care.

She tried to scowl to disguise her smile, but failed miserably. “Yes, you big dork, and you know how I hate admitting that!”

By the time she was done talking, I had my arms around her, pulling her against me, appreciating all over again how good her body felt against mine. Slowly lowering my mouth to hers, I ghosted a question across her lips. “Do I get a prize for bein' right?”

I could feel her smile against my lips when she answered. “Hmmm, I was kinda hoping we would _both_ get prizes tonight. Emphasis on the plural, by the way.”

As much as I wanted to kiss her, I couldn't help the laugh that escaped. “You are perfect, you know that?” Still chuckling, I closed the distance to her mouth and finally, _finally_ , I got to kiss her knowing that it was okay that I wanted her, because she wanted me back.

I'm a very lucky man. For as long as it lasts.

*********

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love any kind of feedback, honestly. Tell me everything, good or bad.


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